With the Unicorn's blessing, Wayne opened the final package.
A dazzling azure light shot into the sky, piercing the night and soaring to unknown heights.
Over London, fierce winds suddenly howled, dark clouds blotted out the sky, and thunder split the air as several tornadoes took shape, leaving countless damaged houses and trees in their wake.
The abrupt meteorological changes left all weather station staff utterly baffled.
"What on earth is happening?!" the balding middle-aged supervisor demanded of the experts in the research room.
Such a massive forecasting error could very well lead to lawsuits from furious citizens that would bankrupt him.
"Shut up!" snapped one of the experts irritably. "If I bloody well knew what was going on, I'd have told you already! None of this makes any scientific sense!"
The experts were completely stumped. The tornadoes defied all laws of physics, and no origin point could be identified.
Gradually, all the storms converged over central London, forming an enormous swirling vortex of dark clouds.
Panicked citizens, faced with this apocalyptic sight, had no idea how to react. Many fell to their knees in prayer, begging their merciful Lord for forgiveness.
Meanwhile, the true culprit behind it all was already enveloped in immense runic energy, undergoing fusion with the rune.
[Legendary Sorcery Rune: Gathering Storm]
[Effect: Your magical power naturally increases over time. The longer the duration, the stronger the effect, with feedback every three months.]
[Note: This rune's effect ceases when the host touches the realm of divinity. Collect all Sorcery runes to elevate their quality to Divine-tier, reactivating their effects.]
A simple, blunt description with an unpretentious effect.
Yet this alone elevated the reward beyond gold-tier, placing it on par with Thunderlord's Decree as a legendary tier.
With this rune, even if Wayne did absolutely nothing and lazed about indefinitely, he could still reach the pinnacle of mortal capability and touch the divine world.
Undoubtedly, this reward exceeded expectations, though its full effects wouldn't be immediately apparent.
But Wayne was more than satisfied. After all, he was just a twelve-year-old boy—time was never his enemy. If he had drawn this talent after becoming a Legend, it would have seemed rather lacklustre.
Thank you, Quirrell, for strengthening the future Archmage.
A few hundred more Quirrells, and Wayne might just ascend to godhood on the spot.
...
Half an hour later, Wayne had fully absorbed all the storm energy, and the strange phenomena subsided.
He landed back on the ground and patted the heads of Hestia and Gardevoir, who had been guarding him.
"Come on, let's go back to sleep."
...
The next morning, Wayne was woken by the doorbell.
"Senior, why are you here so early?"
Yawning, Wayne looked at the radiant Penelope standing at the door, speechless.
They had agreed she would come today, but it was barely past seven.
"Pfft!"
Penelope didn't answer, but suddenly burst out laughing.
Wayne's current appearance was undeniably adorable—wearing sky-blue pyjamas, a nightcap on his head, eyes teary from yawning, looking utterly drowsy.
The blonde senior had a strong urge to pull the boy into her arms and give him a good squeeze.
Unaware that someone was once again coveting his 'good looks', Wayne ushered Penelope inside, telling her to make herself at home—she could nap in the guest room if she wanted—before retreating to his own bedroom.
It wasn't until he woke from his second round of sleep at ten that he finally came downstairs, refreshed.
"Last night, our city experienced a bizarre meteorological phenomenon lasting half an hour, with a swirling dark cloud spanning fifteen kilometres in diameter covering the sky. The tornado caused an estimated economic loss of..."
"As of now, the meteorological bureau has yet to provide a reasonable explanation. Reports indicate a union-led strike is imminent..."
Penelope sat on the sofa watching the news, and Wayne happened to catch this segment as he descended, feeling inexplicably guilty.
Could he have caused this?
The timing seemed to match when he was drawing cards.
The same thing had happened with the Thunderlord's Decree last time, though it hadn't been as exaggerated as Gathering Storm.
"Yesterday, a tornado passed just one neighbourhood away from my house. I heard it knocked down quite a few houses, but then it just... vanished," Penelope remarked after the news ended.
Wayne nodded. "That's really unlucky."
After a moment's thought, he made a call, instructing his family's legal team to assist those affected in filing claims with their insurance companies on a pro bono basis.
Donating money was out of the question. Nearly everyone had home insurance, but with such large-scale damage, the insurers would likely drag their feet with excuses.
This was Wayne's way of doing a good deed.
If those insurance companies went bankrupt as a result, he could swoop in for a bargain—a win-win.
...
With a few days left before his visit to Nicolas Flamel's home, Wayne began enjoying his lazy holiday life.
Sleeping in until eleven, waking up to brunch prepared by Penelope, then practising the cloud magic Dumbledore had taught him.
In the afternoon, if Cho or Hermione were free, he'd go out for a stroll.
Life was blissfully comfortable, though Gardevoir had some minor grievances—she felt Penelope had taken over her job of caring for her master.
Still, with Wayne's reassurance, Gardevoir's mood shifted quickly. Today, however, there was a slight exception.
"Senior, what's for breakfast?"
Before even reaching the bottom of the stairs, Wayne called out—only to freeze at the sight of the visitor in the living room.
"Headmaster, what brings you here?"
Dumbledore sat there, his eyes brimming with amusement as he looked at him.
"Ah, I had some business in London and thought I'd drop by. It seems you're doing well, Mr Lawrence."
"Your black tea is far superior to this old man's, I must say."
"Take some with you when you leave," Wayne said casually, sitting at the dining table and eating spaghetti.
His senior's cooking was indeed excellent—the meatballs were juicy, perfect for popping one after another.
"Just get to the point. I don't believe for a second you came here just to visit. You'd rather spend your time looking for a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."
Dumbledore's smile stiffened, and Penelope subtly tugged at Wayne's sleeve. This was the Headmaster—was it really appropriate to speak so bluntly?
"The matter of the professor isn't urgent yet."
Contrary to Penelope's expectations, Dumbledore showed no sign of anger, merely stroking his beard with a slight expression of embarrassment.
"I already have a candidate in mind, and they're quite interested."
Wayne swallowed a meatball and mumbled, "Death Eater, Dark Wizard, or mental patient?"
"Hmm... none of those descriptions quite fit," Dumbledore shook his head. "Let's just say he's the most promising candidate, but the outcome is still uncertain."
Wayne remained indifferent.
From a student's perspective, he certainly didn't want Lockhart, that fraud, as a professor.
But Quirrell's quest had given far too generous a reward.
If Lockhart could drop loot of the same calibre, he really wouldn't mind.
After finishing his meal, Wayne gave Penelope a look, and the golden-haired senior instantly understood, standing up.
"Headmaster, Wayne, I'll go work on my summer homework now."
Only then did Wayne remember—oh, right, there was homework during the holidays.
How had he completely forgotten about it? Was his Memory Palace talent a fake?
Only Dumbledore and Wayne remained on the first floor.
"Miss Clearwater's cooking is quite good," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Before you woke up, I also had a plate of spaghetti. Far better than what the house-elves make."
"Then pay up," Wayne said with a grin. "Hiring my senior wasn't cheap, you know."
"Fair enough." Dumbledore nodded in agreement, pulling out a bright red stone from his pocket.
"Will this suffice?"
"Why have you brought the Philosopher's Stone again?" Wayne didn't take it, instead eyeing him suspiciously.
"Nicolas told me to handle it as I see fit. It's of no use to me," the old man said, placing the stone on the table. "Might as well use it to pay for the meal."
A Niffler popped out from nowhere, its stubby legs propelling it onto the dining table as its eyes gleamed, promptly stashing the Philosopher's Stone into its pouch.
Wayne didn't stop it, picking up Jerry instead. "How about letting you keep it as a toy?"
Jerry nodded excitedly.
To give a Philosopher's Stone to a Niffler as a plaything—only Wayne in the entire world would do such a thing.
Even a spent Philosopher's Stone held incomparable collectable value, being an artefact only Nicolas Flamel possessed.
"Was there anything else you needed?" Wayne asked again.
"I've heard about Harry," Dumbledore said, his gaze warm with approval. "Thank you very much for your help. I believe his holidays these past years have been far less unbearable because of you."
"If you possess such capability, why didn't you help Harry yourself?" Wayne countered.
"The Dursleys aren't particularly welcoming towards me." Dumbledore replied softly, "Moreover, I cannot offer them tangible benefits. I'm already grateful they took Harry in—I can't ask for more."
"Fine," Wayne reluctantly accepted the explanation.
After some more idle chatter, Dumbledore finally couldn't hold back and revealed his true purpose for visiting.
"Newt looks remarkably well—compared to when I last saw him, he seems thirty or forty years younger."
Wayne's eyes sharpened.
He had his reasons for daring to assist Newt and Tina. In this world, apart from Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and the half-dead Voldemort, few wizards posed any real threat to him.
And among those three, only Voldemort might show interest in Ho-Oh's abilities—assuming, of course, its resurrection powers remained unknown. But today, Dumbledore's visit regarding this matter had genuinely caught him off guard.
Seeing Wayne's silence, Dumbledore explained gently, "Please grant me your trust, Mr Lawrence. I've come only to make a request—to ask you to save someone."
Wayne didn't agree immediately. Instead, he asked, "Who?"
"My brother, Aberforth Dumbledore." Dumbledore met the young man's gaze—not to attempt Legilimency, but to convey sincerity. "Perhaps you haven't heard the name, but you must know of the eccentric proprietor of the Hog's Head."
Wayne nodded.
"He suffered injuries in his youth, and his health has never fully recovered. So, I hoped—"
Dumbledore spoke earnestly, "I'm prepared to offer ample compensation until you're satisfied."
"You're certain?" Wayne's eyes lit up, his tone suddenly eager.
"Er—"
Seeing such a drastic shift in demeanour, the old headmaster grew uneasy. He had assumed that, given Hufflepuff's kindness, Wayne wouldn't demand anything unreasonable, like powerful Dark Magic or sinister artefacts.
But this reaction made Dumbledore, for once, falter. If Wayne did make such a demand, should he agree or refuse?
The next moment, Wayne stated his terms.
"If you can exempt me from summer homework for the next six years, I'll help you."
Then, with a suddenly ominous tone, he added, "Professor... you wouldn't want your brother to suffer endlessly, would you?"
Dumbledore fell silent.
When leaving Wayne's house, old Dumbledore still hadn't anticipated that he would make such a request.
One could only say that young people these days were becoming increasingly difficult to understand.
...
Paris.
The heart of the Gallic rooster, and one of the most important cities in all of Europe. Since ancient times, it has been the centre of culture, economy, and politics, influencing the course of European history.
As the saying goes, no one could occupy France before it surrendered.
But in truth, before the First World War, the country wasn't so easy to mock. It was only that the war had been too devastating—nearly every soldier had witnessed the horrors of the Verdun meat grinder, and an entire generation had been wiped out—that it became what it was later.
Had Grindelwald understood this back then, he wouldn't have needed to burn half of Paris. Had he simply shown himself for a chat, he might have seen white flags raised immediately.
Strolling through the bustling streets, Wayne felt his fingers itch. Thinking of that great fire from years ago, he suddenly felt inspired.
He knew how to cast Fiendfyre, and his mastery of the Fire Shield Charm had reached an expert level—he wasn't completely powerless.
Burning half of Paris might be beyond him, but one-third? Well, he'd only know if he tried!
Originally, Wayne had arranged to set off with Newt, but he received a letter from him just yesterday.
A Chimaera at home was about to give birth, and on top of that, it had caught a cold. Newt had to stay by its side at all times until the baby was safely delivered.
He would be delayed by a few days.
So, Wayne had to come to Paris alone first, seeking out Nicolas Flamel on his own. The young man sighed.
They always said Hufflepuffs were honest, reliable, and trustworthy friends. Newt was certainly honest, but reliable? Well, that was debatable. Far too unpredictable.
Arriving before a bronze statue, Wayne flicked his fingers slightly, and the guard standing in front of it became dazed. Seizing the opportunity, he stepped inside the statue.
The sensation was similar to passing through Platform Nine and Three-Quarters—a brief moment of darkness, then a vast expanse opened before him.
This was Paris's wizarding street, akin to London's Diagon Alley, called 'La Place Cachée', or 'The Hidden Place'.
Compared to Diagon Alley, the street here was far more spacious and bright, not to mention several levels cleaner and tidier. The shop signs hung neatly, and the windows gleamed as if brand new.
This alone greatly improved Wayne's impression of the place.
Diagon Alley might be lively, but some shops really didn't prioritise hygiene.
Wouldn't you agree, Ollivander?
However, Wayne's destination wasn't one of these ordinary shops. Following the map Newt had provided, he arrived at a dead end and walked straight towards the wall.
Ripples spread as Wayne passed cleanly through the wall, entering another area. Where there was Diagon Alley, there naturally had to be a Knockturn Alley. This was the black market of La Place Cachée.
Wayne had come this time to meet an 'old friend' of Newt's—a well-connected middleman with deep background ties, often in possession of highly coveted goods.
As he made his way down most of the street, many eyes followed him from the shadows, but no one made a move.
Though he appeared to be just a youth, the fact that he showed not a flicker of unease in such a place meant he surely had his own means of confidence.
Perhaps he was even a Dark Wizard using Polyjuice Potion to fish for prey. It was said that similar cases had occurred in London's Knockturn Alley earlier in the year, where many wizards had fallen victim to foul play, making them considerably more cautious.
Finally, Wayne arrived at a shop with no sign hanging outside its door. Without hesitation, he pushed the door open and entered.